


End of a Cycle

by mythcollector



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse), Resident Evil - All Media Types, zombies - Fandom
Genre: Biohazard, F/M, Fantasy, Infection, Mythology - Freeform, Psychological Horror, Resident Evil - Freeform, Zombies, outbreak
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-16
Updated: 2019-03-17
Packaged: 2019-11-19 12:05:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18135518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mythcollector/pseuds/mythcollector
Summary: The Umbrella Corporation is on the run. Following the events of what the media have coined the Racoon City disaster, public opinion has turned against the once seemingly benevolent company, and every major government has taken chase. To the average American watching the news over breakfast, the wheels of justice are satisfyingly turning. To them life may continue as it always has.Enter Leon S. Kennedy, survivor of the Racoon City disaster. Something is haunting him. Is it PTSD? Infection? Could it even be mind control? Perhaps ghosts from his past? Leon doesn’t know. What he does know is Pandora’s box has been opened. Umbrella may die, but a lid does not contain what has already escaped. There are subtler forces in the world now. And as he jets to China on mission, as he jets to another city potentially on the brink of outbreak, he must come to grips with the contents of Pandora’s box, both in the world and inside himself.





	1. Beyond our ken

Leon S. Kennedy was sitting in a dark place. Where he was or how he got here, he did not know. Straining his eyes from time to time, he had hoped to catch a glimpse of something, even a shadow; but it was as futile as staring into the depths of a well expecting to see bottom. He was sweating from every pore, the suffocating humidity of the place having attached to him like a parasite and _opened him up_.

 _Primordial_ would have been the word suggested to Leon’s mind had he not been on the brink of losing it. And as the blood beat in his ears like ritual drums swelling in praise to a reign as oppressive as this, his mind disappeared beneath the waves, sinking deeper and deeper and-

“What happened to me?” murmured a mournful voice, a man’s voice. A moment of silence, and then it was asked again, this time a woman’s voice. Then a child’s. Then hundreds began to clamour all at once, thousands. They spoke in many tongues but Leon could inexplicably understand it all. He could understand them, but he had no answer as he continued to sink deeper and deeper and-

“What happened to me?” came the question once more. However, this voice was different. It split the other voices like an arrow and pierced Leon through the gut, for the voice was his own. Leon was asking the question of himself:

“What happened to me?”

“How long have I been here? Hours, days, weeks?” Leon was no longer sinking. The cold hard floor was biting into his spine. He stood up for what felt the first time in his life. Turning his head, he looked here then there. Every path was barred to him by darkness.

“Who are you?” Leon asked into the endless night. The question came out huskily, no louder than a whisper, but it echoed across the void, chasing the other voices off into a resounding hush.

The echo trailed then died. And where it died a green flame kindled to life. It seemed no larger than a candle’s. It reminded Leon of an exit sign, seen from down a dark alleyway. On shaky legs he began to approach the fire.

Its brilliance fascinated him, the way it repelled the darkness with its velvety luminescence. His eyes flickered as the flame flickered. And in-between the shuttering of his eyelids, he noticed the flame was getting larger; a candle flame one moment, a bonfire the next, and, before he knew it, a raging pyre: he was not approaching it so much as it was approaching him. It was not long before the very edges of the night were coming down around him like drapes caught in a blaze.

And from the flames, the voices returned shrieking, as if a stampede were fleeing the inferno. Leon was about to run, but they overtook him in a deafening crescendo. His legs gave out as they flew past him one after another, and on his knees he found himself, desperately covering his ears and shutting his eyes.

But there was no escaping this fate. In his ears hot blood beat, and in his eyes green fire glowed. The eye of the inferno was on him now, and the stomach-turning panic that he had been keeping a wall against for so long finally cracked. The purest and most perversely delicious agony and nausea came washing over him with inexorable power. All he knew at that moment was his hands clawing at his upturned face as he screamed, screamed, screamed into the emerald eye above, as a thousand voices, a million, screamed with him.

 _KERRRRRRRCK_. “This is your captain speaking. Our descent into Shenzhen will begin shortly.”


	2. Highway thoughts

Leon grabbed at his eye mask and tore it off his face in one swift motion. The airplane cabin came into view. Heads were bobbing listlessly, engines were droning monotonously, and in the window seat beside him, the Japanese businessman was watching him cautiously.

“Bad dream?” said the man. Just beyond the pexiglass window, the wing of the airplane glinted proudly. 

“Bad dream,” repeated Leon, inhaling sharply and exhaling until his belly was up in his ribs. “Apologies if I disturbed you at all.” But Leon knew better. It hadn’t been a bad dream any more than Raccoon City had been a bad dream. He had been wide awake for both. He stood up and excused himself.

The bathroom door shut behind Leon, and he leaned forward against the faucet counter. The eye mask was still clenched in his fist, dribbling sweat between his fingers.

The faucet ran cold with water. Handful after handful he brought to his overheated face. And with water dripping from his hair and his nose, he took a look at the mirror. The man staring back surprised him. In many ways he appeared the same Leon: clear skin, clean face, neatly trimmed hair. But the eyes were different. There was a furrow in his brow, nearly imperceptible, that no amount of water could wash away. And the eyes, strained by serious thought, had no humor to temper it. The whites, the ocean shore irises, and impenetrable black holes, no longer regarded the world with care-free youth.

Raccoon City happened five months ago, but the months trailed behind him like decades. And his life before that? Might as well have been another person’s. Another Leon Kennedy in his father’s dojo, low to the floor in the kiba-dachi stance, the child, no older than seven, ready to strike like a python. Another Leon Kennedy crossing the finish line after a grueling 10,000 meters, and catching his breath as second and third-place runners come slowing up beside him -- that Kennedy boy broke more than one Centerview High School all-time records that day. Another Kennedy studying late into the night for his graduate exams, laptop screen bathing blue light upon the left side of his face, as he thumbs through a stack of textbooks to his right. The golden child is on the fast track, alright, following his father’s footsteps every step of the way. Allan Kennedy still holds the record for youngest detective in all seven D.C. precincts, don’t you know? The only thing that Kennedy boy needs to do is stay within the margins. 

That margins even existed Leon had been completely unaware, until that fateful day in late September when the margins fell off of a cliff and he was left teetering at the edge. Autumn had just begun to arrive to Raccoon City that day. Red leaves, brown leaves, yellow leaves had scattered before his car. The Kennedy estate was a thousand miles in the rearview, and he imagined when he walked through the doors at R.P.D. headquarters in one hour’s time, he would be on his way to making a name for himself that did not include his father's in postscript.

Leon loved his father, of course; however, if Allan Kennedy was the sun, then he cast a long shadow. But Leon had still been on the highway then, following the lines: line after line after line, when in the distance he spied a gas station on the city outskirts.

“ _ Sir _ ,” said a flight attendant, knocking on the door. “We will begin landing soon. Please finish what you are doing and return to your seat.”

“One second,” Leon returned. The faucet was dripping steadily. He tightened its handles and walked out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing Chapter 2 in two parts. Will merge when it's completed.  
> Thank you for reading and staying along for the ride. I think it's going to be a good one.  
> See you soon!


End file.
